Miles Davis - Blu, Exile

Swing, swing

Swing, wait, wait

Yeah, Miles Davis (My bad)

Uh, yeah, uh

I autograph my cash and called a cab

We on the map (Map), back in New York City like a Dodger cap

Blu, smooth like blue suede shoes

I told my homie, «Improve,» I’m Tim Allen with the tools

I built my booth, made of jewels, left a hole in the speaker

Stepped in the stu', no shoes, but got more soul than sneakers

Below the clouds holdin' the crown, a Coke, and a smile

But on the humble, word to mumbles, all balls don’t bounce

But yet, a thousand styles flip out when the DJ spins out

Hits out, spit back a hundred rounds

Pulled the clip out, the most dope

Niggas get roached tryna approach the host

We lay it down, yo, butterin' toast

And introduction to the pro, most fit

To hold his dick and spit

A loaded clip to hit the listener’s mitt

I invent too many patterns to pattern your path after

Tell them rappers that we got it mastered, yo

Miles Davis

Mi-Mi-Miles Davis (The leader)

Mi-Mi-Miles Davis (Trumpet)

Miles Davis

It’s kinda Blu, but kinda new, colossal too

My whole team supreme, it’s like a dream come true

I thought you new like the words to Brooklyn Zoo how we cook the stu' (Stu')

Homie my hook up might cut up, might hook your tooth

Salute the best of, niggas hear this and drop their best stuff

We next up, hop off the deck for your cassette bust

You couldn’t blow it, Coltrane in the mall

Playin' the funk but y’all need to be hangin' it up

You cats washed up, cuttin' with vets and got your paws plucked

Prison guards couldn’t lock ours, get your bars up

Bar none, nigga, Jay Barnes get the job done

We could be Siamese twins, still my squad won

My due, my rent late, I still pay dues

I’m too cool, too G, I sing the Ill Street Blues

Born in '83, still gettin' it in '82

And ain’t a person on Earth who could fill these shoes

Miles Davis

Mi-Mi-Miles Davis (Remember Miles)

Mi-Mi-Miles Davis

Miles Davis

Miles Davis

Mi-Mi-Miles Davis (Remember Miles)

Mi-Mi-Miles Davis

Miles Davis

Yeah, uh

Ex, cut it (Cut it)

The black trumpet (Uh), you couldn’t strum it (Nah)

That instrumental hit, you in your stomach when you run it

Crowds plummet tryna touch it

The gold on it make you go out and crown somethin'

It’s the best, the next in the West

Cover your chest like Muslims cover their neck

Truth seekers summon my text, bi-coastal for bifocals

It’ll knock your trial over

You tryna chop with the top chef, try over

Who rhyme colder from California?

(Uh)

You catch pneumonia in the city Biggie wrote rhymes over

Blow tweeters out speakers like «Ether» through your aethers, yeah

Eat up receivers with the signal, I’ma leave ya

It’s the code of the street sweeper, the sleep, sleep

Deeper to the hair on my people, beatin' blocks with the single

I see you coverin' ass like Utah fans

But John Stockton couldn’t pass talkin' all that jazz

Miles Davis

Mi-Mi-Miles Davis (Remember Miles)

Mi-Mi-Miles Davis

Miles Davis

Miles Davis

Mi-Mi-Miles Davis (Remember Miles)

Mi-Mi-Miles Davis

Miles Davis

Miles Davis

Uh, Miles Davis

Miles Davis (Cuttin' loose with the band)

The leader, trumpet

Miles, Miles Davis

(Miles Davis cuttin' loose with the band)

Miles Davis

Swing, swing, swing

Oh, oh